


Fulfilling his promise

by Skaiaa



Series: Left to rot [1]
Category: Youtube RPF, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Dark gets what's coming to him, Psychological Horror, Rated T for language, not a feel-good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaiaa/pseuds/Skaiaa
Summary: Every deal has a price, and Dark is learning the hard way that not everyone can be manipulated and left to rot





	Fulfilling his promise

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this idea in my head since Mark explained what Dark had done to Celine and Damien during the stream, and I wrote something up in retaliation. Ignore the fact it took more than three months after the livestream was released lmfao

Dark.

A manipulative demon; a leader of a corporation of Egos who walked with his head held high, and a heavy heart. People teased him, calling him just a little fluke of an Ego, despite his existence being a floating ghost of a shell he refused to break. He didn’t like not knowing things, but he didn’t have it nearly as bad as they presumed. So what if he had to repress their memories? It was for their own good.

Damien.

A man tossed from a role he already wasn’t prepared for, despite having worked tirelessly for the good of his people. No one suspected the Mayor’s demons, despite them being obvious. He drank. He couldn’t keep his temper… He also was a mediator in a war where there was no winning side. Was he bitter? Perhaps, but it’s not like his form was of his own desire. He was trapped in that damn house for the rest of eternity, a husk of who he had been, only because he was loyal to a fault.

So many words, so many memories that weren’t meant to be there, so many feelings swirling around helplessly in the animated, glitching, demonic corpse of their host, only to be squashed down and tossed aside, much like any other feelings that reared their heads.

Social manipulator.

How do you react to your creator, your god, calling you the worst person created, when you, yourself, were created from less than satisfactory events, from pain, from chaos...From betrayal of said creator.

How were you to take that blow upon blow, besides becoming the thing people fear? How did you stop the assault peacefully?

You didn’t.

That’s how people got shoved into roles they didn’t appreciate.

That’s how people got hurt, because they let themselves be shoved and pushed, and betrayed.

And they didn’t want to deal with it any longer.

\----

A painfully throbbing rang out in an otherwise dark room, banging upon the cranium of a creature who really shouldn’t feel pain. 

Sitting up, the man groaned and stretched, looking at his clock, which had just struck 8:30.

He looked grimly at it as he recalled he had been asleep for exactly seven hours, which seemed to be an odd habit of his; never later, never earlier. At 1:30, he was asleep. It had been this way for nearing a century now. He refused to believe the reason he was stuck in a constant loop, despite it having been explained by the Host, and even Google, before.

Shaking his head, the demon slipped out of bed and wandered to his wardrobe, moving stiffly as he sighed and shuffled through his earlier outfits, freezing when he ran across the feeling of felt, sucking a breath through his teeth before slamming the door shut and instead going to his dresser. He’d go casual today, given that the ringing in his cranium was being persistent. They didn’t need him at the office today, so he could probably get away with holing up in his quarters for a day.

Changing into a comfortable sweater, the man slipped on his slacks and rested atop his covers after making the bed, reaching over to grab his book and reading.

*  
He’s not too sure of when he dozed off, but the scenery changing jolted him into his reality. You see, he was a lucid dreamer, but not one that could rouse himself. Hilarious, seeing as he could sneak into his creator’s dreams and screw with things, as well as the other Egos, aside from Host, having tried once and been thrown out as the personality read the possible outcomes of him getting caught in the chaos. He hadn’t attempted further.

Sighing, Dark looked down at his attire and froze when he saw tanned skin not tainted grey, and a felt, black suit.

“Not this again,” he breathed quietly as he adjusted his grip on a cane in his right palm.

Someone screamed.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” the man sighed as he looked at his surroundings. This was Damien’s room. The colonel was down the hallway, make a right, and go straight. Celine’s seance room on the other side of the building.

“This building is persnickety, at best,” the demon finally answered, the room making another noise as it recognized the host, creaking lowly. “Yes, I know, you want me to go and relive this memory again, and possibly feel bad at the fact that you, and your sister, were murdered by the house, and are now trapped spirits while Mark is free again.”

There was more lightning and Dark rolled his eyes, walking over to the door and locking it before sitting in a chair. The dream couldn’t continue if he didn’t take his role. If he were to wander downstairs and catch a glimpse of the scene, he’d see everyone frozen in place.

“Celine, Damien, why bring me here at this part?”

The lights flickered and Dark was unamused.

“See, this is why I don’t dream, you just can’t accept that you’ve been bested. You knew not to mess with spirits, Damien knew not to let you. The house blew you both to death, it is out of my hands.”

More lightning.

“Yes, I know, there was a deal, but do you really expect me, a creature of Darkness, to truly let you go?”

Dark sighed, sitting back up, cracking his neck, listening to his mirror shatter as he got back up.

“The only one who has ever survived this stupid rule is Wil, and he’s probably moving around in his room, completely oblivious to the fact his..Well, I guess they’d be enemies? Yeah, that makes sense. His enemy, is dead.” He shifted the cane in his hands, tossing it back and forth. “Celine did cheat with him, after all, so Mark probably wasn’t too...Keen, on having him here besides to cause chaos and frame for murder. Not like it’ll put a dent in his frayed sanity, but, hey, might as well try.”

When he blinked the scenery changed and he was in the seance room, lightning flashing outside, followed by intense booms of thunder. Ah, they wanted to speak.

Dark lit the candles and closed his eyes, hands folded neatly over the cane, resting it on the ground before tapping it lightly with his fingers.

There was darkness.

A minute of silence passed before an array of red and blue particles came to him, slowly taking their forms.

Dark’s skin faded back to grey as his color was stolen by Damien, Celine brushing herself down as they were built.

Once they were finagled into place, puzzled back together, Dark creased his eyebrows and stretched, cracking his neck, aware of how uncomfortable it made the other two, watching the particles in their bodies glitch when he did it. Honestly? He found it...Humorous. 

“You’ve left me alone for years, almost a century, in fact. What is causing you so much unrest that you’ve disturbed my slumber thusly?”

Celine stretched and glared, looking like she was going to lunge forward, held back only by Damien. Dark noted that the man had stolen his cane back, finding it amusing how tightly the Mayor held the item to him.

“Is it wrong to want what is rightfully ours!?”

“Celine, darling, it is not my fault you are in this boat,” the entity purred softly.

“Mark doesn’t remember, William’s brain is shattered, and you’re the only one who retained any coherent memories,” Damien tried to reason, hand tightening even further around the bulbous head of his cane, the stone creaking under the pressure. His face was flushing, and it was obvious from his wide eyes, the man was not pleased and was desperately trying to fight his anger.

“Be angered, be enraged, be disturbed, it’s no skin off my back, but you know, you should be visiting the creator,” the creature merely stated, rolling his eyes. “Do you two honestly believe I can help you? I do the dirty work. I was created from YOUR mistakes. Both of you are to blame.”

“You know damn well MARK is to blame!”

Celine lunged, Damien throwing his arms around her torso and yanking her back, hair falling into his face as she struggled in her brother’s grip. It took a moment of struggling for her to compose herself enough for Damien to let her go, keeping a hand on her arm just in case she dashed forward.

Dark reveled in the silence for the short time it lasted as the two placated each other, trying to calm each other down, feeling his shell crack and spark the longer he sat.

“Dark..”

The demon looked up at the male in front of him, the latter biting his lip, trying to figure something, anything out. 

“Yes, Mayor?”

“Remind them.”

“What?”

“Egos, characters, all that nonsense, they come to the manor when created.”

“Listen, i’m all for shattering the norm and destroying minds, but if I were to remind the Egos of you, that’d upset the entire flow-”

“To hell with the flow! We’ve visited William! We’ve visited Mark! You’re our last hope in this, despite the fact that you’re the result of all of this.”

Dark chuckled and Damien glowered, letting go of Celine and stalking forward. The demon raised a brow as the particles of the Mayor conflicted with his own and his dark skin was gaining color again. The man leered down at the demon, and he was mildly impressed.

“Oh? Taking a stand?”

“Listen here,” the man hissed, Celine tilting her head in confusion, walking forward only to be encouraged backwards again with a wave of her baby brother’s hand. “I know I am not the most intimidating, but you are equal parts my entity as my sister’s, and if you do not do this willingly, you will NOT like what comes of it, do you understand!”

Dark belted a laugh and Damien whapped him with the cane he was holding, growling when it exploded into blue particles. The demon stood and grabbed the cane, shoving it’s wielder back, drawing his own hand back afterward and placing it behind his back, wrists crossed as he tilted his head, dark eyes boring into lighter brown ones as he spoke. Damien cursed and nursed his own wrist, glaring hard.

“And, what, exactly, do you reason I do, hmm? What words or ideas are floating in your brain that I could possibly bring to fruition?”

“Let us in,” Celine stated bluntly, moving in front of her brother.

Dark was quiet, raising a brow, before laughing, loudly.

“You think I’d willingly let you into my head? Sweetheart, I’m not a virus, and you’re just particles in my plan. I have your magic, your powers,” He turned to face the mayor, scoffing,” Your poise.”

“We’re trying to be nice,” Damien relayed, hands shaking, cheeks flaming in anger.

“I don’t do nice,” Dark replied coldly.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Dark and Damien looked over.

Celine glared.

“Neither do I.” She stalked forward, heels clacking against the void, red particles bouncing off her and floating back to Dark. “A century is a long time to stew, especially if you can control the house you were murdered in.” She came closer, pushing her brother aside and coming face to face with the demon. “What my brother and I have been trying to get through your thick fucking head, is that we’re tired of being pushed aside and used. Our plan was to work together, and so help me, you’re gonna be held to that damn promise!”

“Wha-”

“She’s right, someone is coming,” Damien parroted, grinning deeply.

Now, Dark wasn’t unsettled by much, being that he was the embodiment of fears, but something about that grin...It disturbed him.

The two lunged, Celine muttering something..Something vaguely familiar.

There was lightning, blinding him and suddenly Dark was...Once again on the floor of the Mayor’s room. He looked around, confused, flexing his fingers and testing the body he inhabited. It worked, the same as before. He picked himself up and went to open the door that had formerly been locked, stepping out into the foyer, not noticing the mirror he had shattered before was pristine and unmarred.

*  
Dark blinked once more as he stepped into the white doorway and was back where he was before he had drifted off, staring at his book, hand perched to turn the page, cramping slightly from the position it had been in.

As if on cue, a knuckle came rapping on the door, echoing in the empty room. Dark groaned, running a hand down his face, jumping when it flickered tan for a short time before fading again, holding back a shriek.

The doorknob turned and the door opened, in popping the cheerful face of Wilford, eyebrow quirked at the state of his buddy.

“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“..I might have.”

Wilford rolled his eyes, stepping into the room.

“Psh, nonsense.”

Dark rolled his eyes and set his book down on his bedside table, folding his hands in his lap.

“What do you need, Wil?”

The bubblegum pink ego skipped into the room and flopped down on the bed, pulling a journal from his breast pocket.

“Host is saying some awful screwey nonsense here lately. I’ve tried getting google to look at him, but the robotic prick doesn’t have anything to say, and the Jims and losing their minds over it, saying their dumb ‘Demons, Jim!’ phrases again. I almost put a bullet in them, I did.”

“And this has something to do with me, because?-”

“It’s about you.”

Dark raised a brow.

“That’s...Peculiar. My story has been over for almost a century.”

“As has mine, but Host is mumbling nonstop. He started, I believe an hour ago?”

Dark looked at his clock and blinked.

It was 9:45.

“Huh...Interesting.”

“Yeah, I find it complete nonsense, but the fellow is just rambling on and on. It’s not even complete sentences either, and it’s confusing as all else. Or maybe it is, and I just don’t care enough to focus on it? Probably that,” WIlford rambled.

“What is he saying,” Dark asked, perturbed, but not too put off by the situation. Yet.

Wilford blinked, raising a brow and running a hand through his hair, opening his journal and searching it before shrugging, tossing it aside, and pulling out a recorder he hid up his sleeve. One of those recording click pens. He clicked it for Dark and the man listened carefully.

“He wanders the empty dreamscape. A hellscape that has tormented souls for many years. There, he is confronted by two people, spirits of his past. The demon plays dumb, mocking the victims, burning them...Enraging them. He doesn’t know he will fall victim to his own ploy. Until it is too late. He has enraged them for the last time. The man he has stolen the appearance of strikes him, but is tossed back. The girl he taunts murmurs under her breath. It's a curse. Left in the house was her books of spells on the day of her death. Despite gathering dust, they have no wear. They had a plan, but Dark did not know it. No one can hear, trapped in the voi-”

The recording cut off and Wilford cursed the shitty equipment, throwing it across the room.

“Bullshit pen!”

Dark, meanwhile, was motionless.

“William…”

Wilford wasn’t paying attention, kicking the pen to pieces, stomping on it.

“How am I s’posed to get anything done if my own equipment turns on me? It’s ridiculous.”

Dark snuck a peek at his arms and quickly pulled the sleeves of his sweater back down, holding them in his hands, hiding them from sight. The other man seemed completely oblivious to Dark’s growing distress as the demon lifted himself out of bed and quickly shuffled to his wardrobe, throwing it open and tossing his clothes out, searching for the article of clothing he had avoided completely that morning. He threw everything onto the floor and found nothing. There. Was. Nothing.

Warfstache raised a brow, turning to face the chaos.

“Um-”

Dark dashed past him and dove to the ground, yanking a box from under his bed and dumping it out. It was completely empty aside from a couple of photographs, dated almost a century in the past, smudged, and poorly taken. His cane was gone. In place was a medal and Celine’s hat.

An absolutely piercing sound rang from the demon as he flipped his bed, growling and searching absolutely everywhere, yanking drawers out of place, gripping at his hair as his normally organized room was now in shambles.

A candle he had lit was bursting into flame in the corner.

Wilford stomped it out, perplexed by this behavior.

“Pal, what the actual hell is going on in your noggin?!”

Dark threw things out of the way as he tore apart his closet, letting out an enraged sound as he stomped back out, kicking the door and running around, trying to find any place his items could be, not willing to accept the truth.

It took Wil putting a bullet into the wall next to him for the demon to finally pause, breathing heavily, freaked out.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“Someone I’ve made a deal with in the past. They’re back.”

“Psh, just kill them, that’s what I would do,” the pinkstached man replied, blowing on the barrel of his gun to clear the smoke.

“I did.”

“SO, what’s the big deal? You destroyed your room for nothing, ya big buffoon,” Wilford chided.

“Do you honestly think I would be freaking out, me, the literal embodiment of fear, if I could just kill them again?”

“It’s not like they can come back from the dead.”

“You are wrong. You are very, very wrong.”

“Pssssssh, you’re being mystic mumbo jumbo again.”

“William, open your god damn eyes.”

Wilford rolled his eyes and stared at his friend before freezing.

“Uhhhhhh-”

“...What.”

“You’re...You’re not..Grey.”

“What. Do. You. Mean.”

“I mean you’re not grey!”

Dark clutched at his sleeves, exasperated.

“That’s not possible!”

“Yes, it obviously is!”

“But-!”

Wilford grabbed Dark and dragged him into the bathroom, pushing him up to the mirror. Dark physically recoiled in his grasp at what he saw.

“WHAT THE FUCK-?!”

"Dark, calm dow-"

Wilford backed away as the image in the mirror became clearer, hand on his revolver as he gripped his head, bumping into the wall as thoughts came flooding through him.

“What the hell have you done?!”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Who did you screw over?!”

Dark gripped the sink, staring into light brown eyes, cheeks rosy, and skin tan, very much alive, his shell slipping back into his being.

“I didn’t screw them over! It was Mark!”

“Why do you look like him!?”

Dark clutched his head, willing his appearance to go back to normal, or as normal as he could get. His aura sparked and crackled as it tried to reemerge from his skin.

"William, I swear, this wasn't my fault!"

Dark took a step forward and Wil saw Celine in his eyes.

"S-Stay away from me!"

Wilford backed out of the bathroom, and then out of the room, rushing down the stairs, clutching his head and running out of the manor, knocking a few other Egos out of the way in his haste. The Host was still mumbling to himself all the while.

Dark, once alone, was sucked into darkness of his own, and collapsed on the tile floor of his bathroom.

“We told you, you wouldn’t like the result.”

The demon blacked out.

**Author's Note:**

> Tada, hope you enjoyed me torturing Dark and Wilford with memories due to bad circumstance. I just really wanted Dark to pay for what he had done


End file.
